


Lend Me Your Warmth

by Arej



Series: Ineffable Advent 2019 [22]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Other, brought to you by the creeping chill of winter, crowley doesn't like the cold, it's a combination demon and snake thing, luckily he has a very good angel to keep him warm in the winter, some fluff!, they're not really male but it's m/m since i used male pronouns throughout
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 06:21:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21911386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arej/pseuds/Arej
Summary: Day 22 for the advent calendar of prompts.Crowley absolutely does not like the cold. Thankfully, Aziraphale is more than willing to help.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Advent 2019 [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1561027
Comments: 14
Kudos: 189





	Lend Me Your Warmth

Crowley comes to slowly, lazily. Unwillingly, but there’s something nagging at him, something dragging him to consciousness. So he shifts, and squirms, and scowls, and squints one bleary golden eye at the world.

It’s dim in their bedroom, curtains drawn against the December night. The only light is the soft glow coming from Aziraphale as his angel acts as his own reading lamp where he sits upright in the bed at Crowley’s side. The demon’s squirming must have caught his attention; he’s set the book aside and is smiling fondly down at him. Crowley smiles back helplessly, besotted.

“Whasssit?” he slurs around a sleep-forked tongue. Something has woken him, and it won’t have been the angel - they’ve spent their nights like this for months now, settled and quiet, and Aziraphale has never once roused Crowley by accident. It must have been -

“The wind, dear,” Aziraphale answers, bringing his hand across to comb through Crowley’s sleep-mussed hair. “There’s a storm blowing in tonight. It’s a ways off yet, though; I can barely hear it. I’m surprised it woke you.”

Crowley can sense it now, in his bones - a creeping ache, a chill to match the ghostly wail out there beyond the curtains. This is it, then: the first storm of the season, the first miserably cold night of true winter and the promise of more to come. He shivers, already feeling the chill sinking into his bones, dancing along his spine.

“Are you cold, dear?” Aziraphale frowns in concern; Crowley pushes his head into the angel’s hand, and blunt fingernails scratch idly at the nape of his neck, right where it feels best.

“’S the ssstorm,” Crowley answers. “Can feel it in my bonesss.”

Aziraphale frowns harder, though his nails keep scratching. Crowley shivers again, both from chill and pleasure. “Does this happen often?”

“Every winter,” Crowley replies. He drops his face back into the pillow, and his next words are muffled and indistinct. “’M usetit.”

“You’re used to it?” Aziraphale translates. “That sounds dreadful, dearest. Is it a demon thing?”

Crowley shakes his dissent into the pillow, careful not to dislodge the angel’s hand, and curls tighter under the duvet.

“You poor dear. I thought you just didn’t like the cold.”

“Don’t,” Crowley agrees. He tilts his head on the pillow to blink up at his gently glowing angel, frowning there over a demon’s fate. It warms his heart so much it almost chases the chill from his bones.

Almost. He shivers.

He shivers, and Aziraphale shifts, wriggles himself over on the bed until he’s pressed to Crowley’s side. The gentle glow flares slightly, and it’s as if there’s a furnace there where an angel should be; Crowley feels himself uncoil instinctively, like a serpent in the sun, muscles stretching lazily as heat sinks into his bones. “Angel…?”

“I run warm,” Aziraphale answers by way of explanation. The hand on Crowley’s neck is like a hot water bottle applied directly to the skin - in short, it’s perfect. Crowley nearly moans in appreciation. “I used to think all angels do, but I never did confirm. I’ve been banking it so as not to overheat you, but if you’re cold…”

Crowley turns to bury his face in Aziraphale’s hip and flings one arm over the angel’s lap. After a moment, he hooks a leg over, too, so that he’s coiled about Aziraphale like - well, like a snake. “You’re amazing,” he whispers into the angel’s hip. Then, again, louder, tilting his face to meet Aziraphale’s concerned eyes. “You’re incredible.”

“I can’t bear to see you suffer, Crowley,” Aziraphale answers. When Crowley just smiles sappily back, he adds, “I mean it. I’d do anything to keep you warm.”

“I might have to keep you in this bed all winter,” Crowley warns jokingly, but Aziraphale nods.

“So be it. I could use some time off from the shop -”

When Crowley laughs, Aziraphale tugs gently on his hair. “I mean it, you know.”

“I know, angel. It’s not so dire as all that, I promise.” He squirms his head further into Aziraphale’s lap, drapes himself across the angel shamelessly. He’s quiet for a moment as he wriggles, as Aziraphale adjusts to accommodate him. “Just…can we do this? More?”

“Cuddle? Every night,” Aziraphale promises. When Crowley blushes, the angel pushes both hands into Crowley’s hair, smiles down at him. “I’d like it very much.”

Crowley, overcome and suddenly shy despite having slithered his entire body between the angel’s legs, presses his face into Aziraphale’s thigh. “Ilvyu.”

He can’t see the smile, but he can hear it, broad and brighter than the sun when Aziraphale responds.

“I love you, too.”


End file.
